Another grabbed a piece of her torn sleeve, his fingers curling around the fraying silk with an almost reverent curiosity. He rubbed it between thumb and forefinger, his cracked nails catching on the delicate threads. His grin widened, teeth yellowed and uneven, as if savoring some private joke.
"You think she's as soft as she looks?" His voice was rough, a rasp that carried both mockery and menace, cutting through the heavy silence like a blade.
Laila's stomach turned. She fought back with everything she had. Her legs lashed out wildly, feet kicking against shins and knees with desperate precision. Her arms twisted and flailed as her nails clawed at any piece of flesh she could reach—scraping, digging deep enough to leave raw streaks of red in their wake.
"Get away from me!" she screamed, her voice cracking under the weight of terror and fury.
"Listen to her," the third one chuckled, stepping closer. "Like she still thinks she's royalty. You're nothing but a spoiled little brat now."
Hands yanked at her silks. Tearing. Pulling. But there were three of them. Three bodies closing in like wolves circling prey. And Laila was just one girl—her strength no match for their sheer numbers or brute force.
She opened her mouth to scream—
A shadow fell over them.
"Are you expecting a savior, princess?"
Her head snapped toward the source just as the men shifted uneasily around her. The grip on her arms loosened slightly—not enough to free herself but enough for her to feel their hesitation.
Seti.
Drunk. Grinning. His tunic half undone, a goblet still clutched in his fingers.
He took one slow step forward, eyes lazily sweeping over the scene before settling on her.
"You're causing trouble, princess," he mused, shaking his head. "Now, I can't have that."
Then, he turned to the men. Smirking. Mocking. Cruel.
"The only one getting her body tonight will be me."
Laila's blood went cold.
The men burst into laughter, slapping each other's backs.
"You hear that?" one jeered. "Guess we'll have to wait our turn."
Seti chuckled. "Maybe."
Then, with a firm grip, he grabbed Laila's wrist and pulled her toward him.
"You and I," he murmured, lips brushing her ear, "we have a wedding to plan, don't we?"
Laila stumbled forward. Seti's grip was unyielding, his body warm against hers, too close. The warriors were still watching. If she fought him now—if she refused—what then?
Seti's fingers tightened. A silent warning–Play along.
Laila forced her chin up. "You could have at least asked me properly," she said coolly—a veneer of defiance masking fear so palpable it made breathing feel impossible.
The men roared behind them at this unexpected retort, their laughter echoing through air thickened by tension—but Seti didn't laugh this time; instead...he smiled wider than ever before—a predator pleased by prey showing fight instead of submission.
"Oh princess," he whispered silkily while steering both himself & Laila toward the tent beyond prying eyes still whistling crude tunes behind them.
"I don't ask for things...I take them."